


Miracle On 48th Street (Ingenuity, plus courage, equals miracles)

by Lara



Series: Magic Coffee [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Coffee, Dad!Tony, Darcy is inappropriate, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Honda Accords, Huddling For Warmth, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda, Pre-Relationship, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Road Trips, Soulmates, Squirrels, Tags to be added, Well - Freeform, What else is new?, are also a theme, but bucky does get close, coffee is the soulmate, for most of this, not biologically but he is in dad mode, on the run with Bucky 'beefy jerk' Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lara/pseuds/Lara
Summary: The reality of the fact that Darcy is running away from two bull-dog looking HYDRA bozos with another homeless looking bozo is, simply put; terrifying, and absolutely not on her New Year’s resolution list.
She totally, accidentally signed up for a road trip with a 1940’s World War II hero turned assassin. 
Oh. 
My. 

  Thor.





	1. When Squirrels Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longtime coming sequel to 'You Will Meet An Annoying Woman. Give Her Coffee And She Will Go Away'. Evidently she did not go away, she decided (was coerced, tricked and bamboozled) to go on a road trip with Bucky..but you'll see that eventually. Anyway I have about four chapters written, originally I wasn't gonna post this until I was completely finished with the whole thing but I need the encouragement or else I'll get 'busy' again and then I wont ever finish this. So please I beg you, I implore you to leave reviews! I love them! It's better than any orgasm I've ever had. 
> 
> BIG THANKS TO HANNAH (GingerLocks on here, forevergingeratheart on tumblr) AND DIXIE (who is dixiedoolittle on Ao3 and tumblr) - without you guys this wouldn't be readable, thanks for being betas and friends and wasting your free time on this! 
> 
> Ps:. Check out Hannah's words, they are great!

Her baseball bat connects with such ferocity that Darcy wonders if this is what carrying Jane’s equipment has prepared her for. Minus the bloodlust of course, nothing could’ve prepared her for the exhilaration she felt from letting her bat do the speaking. How satisfying the crunch of metal to metal is. 

Fuck. These. Squirrels. 

Another one comes flying in a high arch towards her. 

Fuck their creator. 

Another one flies and detonates in the air. 

And last, but not least, fuck the Starbucks barista that had given her one ( _ one) _ espresso shot and then had hightailed it out of the coffee shop. 

Small parts scatter to the ground near Darcy’s feet. It’s an absolutely exhilarating feeling.

“YEAH!“ Darcy yells, fist shaking triumphantly above her head. She catches another squirrel trying to make its way towards one of the cafés that many of the civilians are hiding in. 

“No, you don’t.“ She growls, shouldering her bat as she runs across the street. 

“HEY!“ She yells as the squirrel zeroes in on a group of mothers who are huddling behind Starbucks’ chairs desperately clutching toddlers in their arms. 

The red-eyed, robotic demon doesn’t veer from its path. Until her baseball bat gets in the way.

“No mothers are getting killed on my watch! Tell your friends!“ She yells after the flying monstrosity. It detonates before it can tell its friends anything. 

Darcy laughs gleefully. Probably evilly too, mad-scientist style. An unexpected blast from Tony melts one of the little rodents to the pavement. 

“Darcy is Babe Ruth-ing it here,” Tony says into his comm, hovering above her with his faceplate open. Darcy focuses on two squirrels that are edging closer. Before Tony can get to them with his blasters, she raises her bat again. She gets them both with a nice swing, the arch they fly so high that she doesn't even see them land. 

If this is how Tony feels when he zips through the sky and blasts things, she’ll forgive him for his color-obnoxious choices. 

“I believe that’s what the kids call a grand slam.“ Tony crows in a terrible announcer voice. He’s got that mad genius look in his eyes again that means he’s seeing something he likes. 

“Thanks, Mr. Scully.” She tips her imaginary hat to him. 

“Damn, kid, I better hide the bats from now on.” He whistles, abruptly spinning around and firing his repulsors into two more squirrels that were trying to creep up on them from behind. 

“ _ Or _ you could just do as I tell you to.” Darcy suggests, she angles her bat so she is ready for the next attack. Tony snorts. Yeah, _ as if _ . 

“As much as I want to stay for the rest of the show, Dottie Hinson, I’m told I’m needed elsewhere.“ Tony zaps off, blasting a few more robotic rodents as he goes. 

Five more squirrels emerge from the bushes. 

Where the hell are they spawning from? It’s like they’re appearing out of thin air! 

Maybe there is a mother-squirrel? Birthing them like a gigantic robotic squirrel assembly belt? 

The thought tickles her, almost as much as smashing another few into oblivion tickles her. 

Fuck these poor, metallic, ice age, squirrel impersonators for interrupting her daily coffee hunt. At least this isn’t happening anywhere near Doris’ diner. That could have made a girl resort to guns. 

Squinting into the distance like a post-apocalypse, ‘the walking, metal squirrel’ protagonist, she wipes the sweat off her brow. 

In the distance, between the only two healthy looking trees in the park, Darcy spots a glimmer of metal. 

There is a limit to how many squirrels Darcy can obliterate, she only has two arms. But she’s also only had two and a half cups of coffee. And  _ one  _ sad, measly espresso shot. And  _ that  _ is to be blamed on the squirrels. 

“Fuck me.” The glinting metal is attached to a person. If Bucky had worn  _ this _ getup in the diner she certainly wouldn’t have mistaken him for a homeless man in need. With the metal arm exposed and the all-black outfit, he is pretty intimidating. Especially when he is stalking towards her with a look so scowly he could be the stunt-double for grumpy cat. 

The telltale beeping of a detonating squirrel tears her away from Bucky. 

Before she can even do so much as raise her bat two strong arms pluck her off the ground and swing her away from the detonating squirrel. 

“What are you doing here, Darcy?” Bucky growls into her ear, shielding her with his body.

“What's up, Jimbob?” She quips over the sound of another squirrel exploding, not five feet from them. 

“Darcy. Go. Home.” He lets her go and pushes her in the direction of safety. Darcy refuses to budge. 

“I’m not done yet,“ she protests. Seeing Bucky’s face growing from mildly Winter Soldier-y to murderous has her tightening her grip on the bat. She briefly wonders if she can get away with “accidentally” hitting him in his stupid, scowly face. 

“Darcy, I’m not telling you again. Go. Home.” 

“But I-” 

Before she can finish her sentence, Bucky’s hoisting her up by the hips, pinning her under his arm like she’s a library book and not a person with flailing limbs. She watches in despair as her bat clatters to the floor and rolls away.

“I love you, Marion!” She yells after her bat. 

She’s gonna miss Marion, her plans to frame her and display her above the fireplace are destroyed by Bucky  _ fucking _ Barnes. 

She kind of expects Bucky to push her down the stairs of the subway entrance or lock her into one of the shops, or in a washroom or something. 

To her surprise he carries her into the nearest high-rise, her face bouncing dangerously—deliciously?— close to his butt with each purposeful step. Which is distracting her enough to forgive him for the cave-man style rescue. Even if it had been an unnecessary rescue. 

Darcy can take care of herself just fine. Years of college softball have prepared her for this very moment. And her aim with the taser isn’t so bad either. Yeah, she isn’t Natasha, but who is? 

And who the hell is Bucky to say she can’t help herself? 

The bouncing gets worse as Bucky begins jogging up the stairs. It’s a long uncomfortable way but it has a good view. She resists the urge to smack it and works her mouth instead. He doesn’t acknowledge her complaints (and they are grade A creative,) bar the occasional grunt. But that could also be related to the fact that she is not a piece of furniture and did have three pancakes and a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. Hello? Human! Not invincible, long-haired cyborg. 

He finally lets go of her when they reach the roof, she tumbles ungracefully to the ground. 

“Hey!“ She complains loudly, he sighs like an old tormented dog. Like  _ he _ is the one that just got manhandled away from the most exciting Christmas spectacle since ’99 when her foster brother set the tree on fire. 

She is not gonna move from her spot and she is so not gonna forgive him either. His butt is too far away to distract her now, anyway and gravel pokes uncomfortably into  _ her _ butt. She pouts up at him but the face that normally softens Tony’s heart within seconds only has Bucky scowling deeper. 

“You know what, Barnes?” She huffs, finally getting up off the ground, without his help, thank you very much. “You should get  that teeny-tiny, black Robin mask they had you wearing in the comics, that’d really round off your costume.” 

In response he begins pulling out parts to assemble a rifle. Darcy gapes. “Sweet. Do you have manners in there too?” 

“Watch my six,” he instructs gruffly, like the barbarian he is. Thanks to him she doesn’t have the bat anymore and while she’d take on robotic squirrels any day, she’s not gonna go up against the former Winter Soldier without a weapon. So she shrugs, but when he turns his back to her she gives him the stinkiest stink-eye in the history of stinky stink-eyes. 

He positions himself by the ledge, the rifle pointing down to where Steve and Natasha were engaging in hand-to-hand with a quadrillion robotic squirrels. Even squinting she can't keep up with Natasha’s lethal ballet or Steve’s violent gymnastic routine. 

“That’s not my six,” Bucky growls, using one finger to point behind his back, “this is.” 

“Depends on how you're holding the clock...” She mumbles but turns around staring at his six, seven and eight, bored out of her mind. 

The fight fizzles out soon after, Darcy does nothing but stare at the door, hoping that one of the squirrels will learn to fly so she can have something to kick. 

When it’s finally over, Bucky packs up without a word. Not that she expects much, the day at the diner had seemed like a one-off moment. He isn’t really a talker. An explanation would be nice though. 

Before that can happen though Barnes gets up and walks to the other side of the roof. 

“Hold up, Sherlock. There are- you can- you should take the  _ staIRS _ !” Her high-pitched yell falls on deaf ears. Bucky already disappeared down the side of the building by the time she finishes the sentence. 

She is  _ not  _ ever in a million years gonna give coffee to a stranger again. Nu-uh. 

_ Christmas miracle my ass! _

 

*

 

_ “This young New Yorker certainly proved that she is, in fact, in a league of her own. What do you think, Christie?”   _

_ “Well, David, if the Mets ever want to win again, they should perhaps try and contact this brave young lady.“ _ Darcy hits the mute button on the remote and cuts them off mid-chuckle, rolling her eyes, though secretly feeling a little bit smug. Well, a little like, a  _ lot,  _ she hopes Barnes is watching this. 

“How come you get more coverage than I do?“ Clint pouts, perched on top of the sofa polishing one of his exploding arrows. She hopes Tony’s insurance covers indoor explosions in areas other than the labs. 

“Buckle up, pigeon face, there is no crying in baseball.“ She grins at Clint. 

“Funny,” Clint says drolly. 

“I’d never wear orange and blue together anyway.“ Darcy says, nudging Clint playfully with her sock-clad foot. 

“Too bad that they never caught who assisted you, huh?” Sam asks Steve, he’s lounging next to her, one foot in her lap. Darcy turns her attention to Steve who has been watching the news with near zero interest. Which is good, if someone took a video of her hitting home-run after home-run with an army of squirrels, then surely someone has got video of her being carried away by the Winter Soldier. Which would be bad for Bucky’s whole ‘Catch me if you can’ spiel. 

Steve rubs his neck and leans forward a little, like he’s had this conversation a million times before. “I  _ don’t _ need video to know who it was. There’s only one guy who’s got my back like that.” They  _ so _ had this conversation before. 

“Alright, alright, if you think it’s Barnes I’ll believe you.” Sam says holding up his hands placatingly. 

Oh shit. Bucky is so  _ busted _ . 

 

*

 

The bag of cannoli in Darcy’s lap smelled absolutely delicious. They smelled like the best decision she has made since sitting down with a metal-armed, shaggy-haired, former (she hoped) assassin in a Hell’s Kitchen diner. 

Her willpower is completely focused on not devouring them all in the N train. The only thing keeping her from gobbling down every single one of these heavenly, Italian, baked goods is the coffee that she knows is waiting for her in the common room. 

The train comes to a jolted stop at the Prince St. station and Darcy drops her precious bag of treats on the filthy subway linoleum. Or would’ve fallen to the floor except, a helpful hand shoots out and catches her bag before it can be contaminated. 

The hand belongs to Satan incarnate. Well, the hand belongs to Bucky Barnes, but the smirk on his face clearly says Satan incarnate. 

She blinks at him owlishly and watches him reach into her bag and take out a cannoli. 

“What are you doing with  _ my _ cannoli?” She shrieks and snatches the bag back. Smirking, he takes a gigantic bite of her treat. 

“Cannolo,” he says around the cannoli in his mouth. Darcy scowls. 

“What?” 

The Ricotta-filling dribbles into his beard as the last piece of  _ her  _ treat disappears in his mouth.

“Singular, I only ate  _ one _ .” He dusts the icing sugar of off his tan jacket, still smirking, he does that lot for a person who’d looked like a sad hobo just five days ago. This was one hundred percent the fault of Doris’ coffee, no doubt at all. 

“I didn’t know HYDRA taught grammar too.” She hisses.

“Among other things.” He shrugs, nonchalantly. Darcy’s jaw drops. 

“What the fuck, Barnes? Who the fuck makes jokes ab-” The train comes to another stop, of course Barnes doesn’t even sway on his feet even though he isn’t holding onto a pole. 

“See you soon, Lewis.” He says with a wink that can only be described as  _ saucy.  _

“You have  _ cannolo  _ in your beard!” She yells after him but he has already disappeared out of the doors. “Bastard probably doesn’t even have a metro ticket.” She growls under her breath. 

A dude, who sits across from her and who has clearly watched the whole exchange, definitely from Brooklyn too with his black rimmed glasses and Williamsburg chic boutique skinny jeans, turns to her, wide-eyed. 

“Did a _homeless_ _person_ just steal your food?” 

She isn’t even sure if Barnes is homeless, he seems like the resourceful kind of guy, he probably has somewhere to squat, so she shrugs her shoulders. 

“I  _ hate  _ New York City.” He says vehemently, with all of the feeling of a  _ new _ New Yorker.


	2. New Year - New Me - No Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of comments left on the previous chapter regarding potential similarities to leftennant’s Road Trip of Champions series, please rest assured that I have reached out to leftennant. We have compared her work to mine, in addition to this story’s outline, and agree that while there may be similarities in certain characterizations or overarching events (i.e., a grump going on a road trip), this story is not inspired by and will be decidedly different from leftennant’s.   
> And yes, I have deleted the comments because I feel the discussion was pointless and had reached a point were people were not being civil anymore. 
> 
> Thank you all for your concern (for both myself and leftennant). I hope your enjoy the story to come.

January 1st is Darcy’s least favorite day of the year, because the first day of the year always feels like a Monday. 

One; everyone is too motivated, there is nothing worse than watching all the overeager ‘I’m-gonna-stick-to-my-resolutions’ people power-walking down the streets to their nearest gym. 

Two; hangovers are a bitch. Jane may be out of the country, but Darcy wasn’t gonna let that ruin the fun. She had killed one and a half bottles of cheap white wine. And had ended the night crying as the ball dropped. Which really wasn’t helping her hangover now.

Her head is pounding ( _that's what you get for drinking five dollar wine, bitch_ ) and her mouth is so fuzzy it feels like she’s licked the carpet. Come to think of it, she probably did. 

She needs coffee. Pronto. 

“Doriiiis.” She whines as she rolls out of bed, still dressed in her tights from last night, making grabby hands at the door as if Doris would appear with coffee. She didn’t, of course. So Darcy puts the black dress, that she had barely, drunkenly taken off at three in the morning, back on and slowly (so that she doesn’t juggle her brain more than necessary) and walks to the elevator. Halfway there, Darcy decides opening her eyes fully is too painful. 

“JARVIS? Will you help my hungover self?” JARVIS dims the lights in the corridor and Darcy sighs in relief. Regret is clearly the theme of January 1st. 

Outside of the tower is even worse. The grey skies are so blinding that it feels like Darcy’s eyes are about to liquefy and drip out of their sockets. 

“Fuck.” She mumbles and keeps muttering it under her breath all the way up the six blocks to the diner. 

-*-

The diner is blessedly empty. Doris is leaning over the counter flipping through Us Weekly when Darcy stumbles inside. 

“I need an IV.” She rolls up her sleeves and points to the crook of her arm. 

“An IV?” Doris asks, eyebrows raised. 

“Of coffee. A coffee IV. Please.” 

“For medical supplies you should just head down to Bellevue. I can offer you one cup for each hand, honey.” Darcy pouts but nods. 

“I’m gonna Edward Fortyhands the shit out of this.” Incidentally that is what had gotten her this condition in the first place so it only seemed right to try to remedy the headache she got from her heavy drinking with the holy juices of coffee the same way. 

“You just made my year,” Darcy breathes. Doris flaps her hands to shoo her away, unaffected by Darcy’s declaration. Darcy finds her spot in the booth that she has met Bucky in. And you know, since he’s imprinted on her like a murderous, long haired, ugly duckling, chances are he’s gonna come around and she can finally avenge her fallen cannoli. 

“I need to leave town.” Startled, Darcy spills her hot, magic coffee down her dress. 

“Shit!” She cries, pain spreading all over her legs. Bucky slips into the seat across from her (called it!), looking unfairly put together in contrast to her. He’s certainly discovering street style. Ha! 

“You need to work on your situational awareness.” Bucky says unsympathetically but he hands her a stack of napkins, so she forgives him. 

“Warn a girl, would you Barnes?” She tries to blow her tights dry. It’s no use, though thankfully the coffee is already cooling. 

“That would defeat the purpose.” 

“I’m not training, bite me.” 

Bucky scoffs. “You should.” 

“But I’m not and you don’t get a say anyway. So. Bite. Me.” She dunks two fries in the ketchup and shoves them in her mouth. They sit in silence for a bit. Darcy contemplates the merits of dunking her fries in the coffee. When she looks up she catches Bucky staring at her, tapping his fingers on the table, waiting. Oh right. 

“Skipping town?” She asks, Bucky nods and takes one of her fries. Darcy allows it. 

“HYDRA is still looking for me and Stevie’s getting closer, I need to leave for a bit.” Stevie? Huh. She is so gonna bring that up to Tony. When the time is right, of course. Right now bringing up the fact that she is meeting the Winter Soldier for coffee seems...unwise. In general the whole situation is surreal. 

Bucky is giving her the same look he had given her when he had told her his name. His gaze is intense, like he is searching for something. 

“Are you telling me that because you need help?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at her. Which...fair enough, stupid question. Then he grabs her second coffee. 

“That’s mine!” The sip he takes is long and the smug grin after deserves to be slapped off. 

“S’mine now, doll.” He puts the mug down in the middle of the table. Annoying bastard. 

“You think a little cyborg spit is gonna keep me from taking that back?” Darcy reaches out and takes it right back, matching his smirk with one of equal caliber. 

“Children.” A pot of coffee, a _pot_ of sweet, sweet life juice magically appears in front of them. A _whole_ pot. “You two kids better stop before you start tearing apart my diner.” 

They both have enough decency to look a little ashamed. Even though Bucky is clearly the one who needs to be the most ashamed. Doris leaves them with a sternly raised eyebrow. Darcy seriously contemplates pulling a Clint and chugging the whole thing but that would be against the whole ‘no-diner-destruction’. It’s still seriously tempting. 

“We need to leave.” Bucky suddenly urges, Darcy follows his gaze and spots two impressive looking scowly guys coming through the diner door. Bucky, reminiscent of that time she had been turned into a human library book, grabs her with his left arm and hauls her aways from the table. 

She suddenly understands why he likes this booth, it has a good view of the front door, but from the entrance you couldn’t see who was sitting in the sticky booth. Also the chase doors are nearby. 

Darcy barely manages to grab her coat and purse before Bucky has tugged her into the kitchen. The cooks, three middle aged, bald men, don’t even look up as Bucky navigates them through aisles of pots and pans to the back entrance. 

Outside it’s crispy cold but there are no other scowly muscle dudes in sight. “Are we sure those guys are bad guys?”

“They are HYDRA,” Bucky says with so much certainty that Darcy can’t help but believe him. He still got his metal hand clamped around hers, even as he’s leaning around the corner to see if there was more impending danger lurking. 

“Okay,” Darcy allows, her heartbeat picking up as she leans around the corner below him. This is not how she was supposed to start her new year. “Let's get a cab,” Darcy urges trying to tug him along by his hand but of course he doesn't budge. He shakes his head eyes never leaving the entrance. 

“They’ll catch up with us.” The shift in his behavior is...odd. This is not the guy who stole cannoli from her, this is the guy who made sure Steve was safe, who had single handedly taken out thirty robotic rodents. Tactical. And focused. He’s scoping, his muscles are taut and the grip on her hand is almost, _almost_ painful. He focuses on the fire escape on the other side of the street. Darcy knows that she won’t be able to climb up any of those. Hell no. 

Slipping away is her only option. Except she won’t leave him. Taxi it is. Has to be. “I don’t wanna die just yet. Currently I think age 27 and a speedball will do the trick,” she rambles tugging on Bucky’s red henley again. 

“Doll,” he snaps warningly, the look he gives her tells her all about what he thinks of that plan. 

“We’ll disappear in a sea of yellow taxis. C’mon.” Bucky still looks sceptical but when she tugs he follows her. In an effort to appear normal, as normal as you can be with a coffee stained, wet crotch and a terrible bedhead, she latches onto his arm, wraps her other hand around it and tries to shake her hair partially in front of her face. Bucky pulls his cap lower and lets her lead him. 

Business is slow around here so catching a cab takes only matter of seconds. As they rush past the diner, they both try to keep an eye on their pursuers. The two HYDRA goons are outside, one of them is on the phone talking animatedly, his face contorted with anger. The taller of the two men is scouting the area. 

Looking for _them_. Shit. _Fuck_. 

Darcy hadn’t even realized how close they had been to being discovered. Taking a deep breath doesn’t help. Her heart is still painfully beating in her chest. So she does what she does best. She opens her mouth. 

“We didn’t even pay Doris. If HYDRA is responsible for us never getting Doris’ coffee again I will obliterate them all myself. No mercy,” Darcy rants casting panicked looks over her shoulder. Bucky looks at her wide-eyed for a split second. “I hope she is okay. What if she isn’t? Do we know how old Doris is?” 

“Focus.” Bucky orders, eyes back on the two HYDRA goons, his right hand clutching something in his jacket. Totally a gun. Or a grenade. Ending as just another smudge of dirt on the sidewalks of Hell’s Kitchen is about as appealing as one can imagine. 

“I am focused, Barnes. I am focused on whether or not Doris is still alive and if my life is still worth living.” She huffs, fishing for her phone in her purse. This is one step too far and she knows as soon as her coffee dates with the Winter Soldier come to light she’s gonna be on Steve’s shit list but she’s so not gonna end up on Jane’s shit list too. 

“Hey!” Bucky grips her wrist before she can punch her code in. “I need to call Tony, what if they follow us?” She hisses. 

Bucky only shakes his head, “They know what we look like. We need to disappear.” 

“But-” It’s the desperate look on his face that stops her from opening her mouth further. Logically calling the Avengers and letting them handle this is the smartest move but Bucky is clearly not ready yet. “Steal a car?” she whispers with a look to their taxi driver, who is blessedly distracted with God’s work by making rude gestures at pedestrians. 

He jerks his head in a nod. 

“Oh, okay.” Darcy says deciding to just roll with the punches. Her New Year's resolutions didn’t exactly include stealing more cars (yes, college had been...rough) but it did say to do more things out of her comfort zone. So why not steal a car with an internationally wanted assassin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest thanks again to Hannah (forevergingeratheart) and Dixie (diexiedolittle) for being my brains! 
> 
> Also for all of those into easter eggs there is a Gilmore Girls shaped one somewhere in there, it's coffee related. ;)


	3. Off to Walley World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy has no cares, does not understand the idea of going on the run and probably still thinks they are reenacting the Griswolds on their cross country trip to Walley World. (They are not.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this took like several years. Why? 'Cause I am a little lazy. Also life stuff. Mostly laziness though. 
> 
>  
> 
> Ps: PLEASE click the link! It'll make your day!

 

The ‘why not’ catches up to her about eighty miles out of Manhattan, in a Dunkin’ Donuts near Poughkeepsie. Which Darcy has trouble pronouncing (Puff-kep-si? Poo-keep-si? Poh-kep-sy?) and Bucky clearly doesn’t give a shit about it.

The reality of the fact was that Darcy is running away from two bull-dog looking HYDRA bozos with  _ another _ homeless looking bozo. And it was,  simply put;  _ terrifying, _ and absolutely not on her New Year’s resolution list. This is the kind of reckless impulsive behavior her childhood therapist had always talked about and Darcy foolishly had laughed at. 

The adrenaline that has been pumping through her veins ebbs away right as she’s handed a large latte and a medium sized black coffee for her companion. What little adrenaline thats left makes her hands shake helplessly. As she pushes the door open, her hands shake so badly she’s turning her large latte into a medium in no time, lukewarm coffee drips down her hand and onto her already stained tights. 

Twice in one day, at least she could always count on Dunkin’ Donuts to serve their coffee lukewarm instead of McDonald's scalding hot hell juice.

Outside Bucky leans against the rusty, silver, 1994 Honda Accord they stole, looking super soldier-y and collected. The sun’s light hits him just right from behind and every individual strand of dark, greasy hair is illuminated like a halo around his head. 

They make an attractive pair. 

She’d totally signed up for a road trip with a 1940’s World War II hero turned assassin. 

Oh. 

My. 

_ Thor _ . 

“Thanks,” he grunts as she hands the coffee to him. She barely manages nodding her head. Without another word she rounds the car and gets into the driver’s seat, Bucky stares for a second and then slides into the car and rests his arm on her leg as he finagles with the wires beneath the wheel, the Honda comes to life with a pitiful metallic wheeze. And just like that they are off to see-- whoever or whatever Bucky has in mind. Bucky doesn’t bother with directions so Darcy settles on going further upstate. 

 

*

 

The sign that says ‘World’s Largest Rocking Chair’ comes as a relief. On a scale of nice-cold-drink-at-the-end-of-the-day to aloe-on-burned-skin it’s an-oasis-in-the-Sahara.

Ever since she had pulled onto the interstate Barnes had started to twitch beside her, every time she switched lanes she could see his jaw clench from the corner of her eye, a chair seems like an innocent enough distraction. She’d really rather want to deal with Cannoli-thief-Barnes than this skittish version of the man she knows. Well, not  _ knows,  _ but certainly likes better than tactical I-will-kill-you-with-my-little-toe-Barnes. 

“Wanna see a huge chair?” she asks, already switching lanes to get to the next exit. His nod is terse, if that is because of her driving or because he’s also not feeling the vibes; she doesn’t know. 

She won’t mention the fact that she can see his white knuckles gripping the dashboard, it’s hard to ignore the creaking of the plastic when she takes the exit with just a little too much speed but it’s easy to ignore if she gets to see New York state’s largest rocking chair. 

So what if she has a lead foot, sue her. At least Jane appreciates it. 

“You’d think HYDRA’s famed weapon could withstand a civilians driving,” she snarks at him when he practically flings himself out of the car. 

“I.  _ Me _ . I am going to drive from now on,” He says, eyes narrowed pointing his index finger at her, probably would’ve jabbed her too if the car wasn’t between them. “ _ You _ are not allowed to touch anything.” 

“But the radio?” She asks hopefully, he narrows his eyes more if that is even possible, then his shoulders sag in defeat and he sighs. 

“ _ Just  _ the radio,” He concedes petulantly. “You try anythin’ funny you’ll sit in the back.” He adds sternly, wagging his finger at her like she’s a particularly naughty puppy. She raises an eyebrow and shrugs.  

“Whatevs, Morgan Freeman.” She tosses him her soggy coffee cup as she walks towards the giant wood work miracle that the state of New York calls a rocking chair. He catches up to her after he’s tossed their trash. 

‘The Chair’ itself is the ugliest thing Darcy has ever seen. Worse than the mail opener she’d made in woodshop in 7th grade. Which totally explained why it wasn’t listed anywhere on the internet. The whole of New York state was clearly ashamed of this monstrosity and rightfully so. 

She loves it. 

“Take a picture?” she asks giddily already fumbling for her phone in her coat pocket. “This is so going on Facebook,” she declares as she hands it over. Bucky glares at it but obliges her. She spreads her arm and grins into the camera. Bucky looks at her unimpressed. 

“Happy?” he asks as he hands the phone back to her. 

“Selfie?” She asks pouting for good measure. The Winter Soldier brought to his knees by a pout, who would’ve thunk?

“Self what?” 

She beckons him over until they stand side by side, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Smile,” she instructs, he keeps scowling. “Alrighty then,” she quips and holds the phone above them.

She smiles brightly into the camera her head barely in frame because her forehead ends where his mouth starts, the angle is so awkward that not even Instagram filters can save this photo. 

It’s so gonna be her new lock screen picture. 

“Can we go now?” Bucky asks, he tugs on his sleeve trying to hide his metal hand from other tourists. 

“If you hit up an American landmark, that you’re ninety-nine percent sure you’re going to forget as soon as you put the AC on in the car, the least you can do is get a postcard.“  

He sighs in that way of his, nothing new there, and begins to, surprisingly, steer her gently towards the shop by the shoulders. 

He gets antsy as she peruses the gift shop, he doesn’t follow her closely but it feels like he has one eye on her and one eye on their car. She snickers when she finds what she is looking for. 

“A little thank you for Tony,” she explains after she’s paid. He grunts, clearly relieved that they are leaving the hell-hole behind. 

 

*

 

They don’t even make it two miles before Bucky pulls off the highway and into a run-down Panera Bread parking lot. He silently points to the backseat staring blankly ahead as his hands flex like he’s close to strangling her with his fancy-shmancy mechanical medical achievement. 

”Barbie girl is  _ iconic _ ” she huffs as she tries to use the middle console as a boost, she could’ve gotten out of the car but Bucky might decide that it’s too bothersome to keep going with her, and Darcy is so not into broccoli cheese soup at the moment. 

“I mean, I think this one is definitely on Spotify?“

“Doll, I said no funny business,“ he growls through gritted teeth. Her foot hits him in the arm with a clank. 

“How was I supposed to know-” 

“Buckle your seatbelt.“ Darcy huffs and crosses her arms. Bucky ignores her, yanks her iPod off the aux cable cassette thingamajig and switches to a world music station. “What, no swing music?” 

 

*

 

Darcy squints into the darkness at the passing trees unsure whether Bucky has found a place to stay or if her stellar Ken impression is going to get her killed tonight. Which, frankly, would be unfair - her voice really was a thing of beauty. 

Bucky turns a sharp corner and shuts the engine off. For a short five seconds the car’s headlights illuminate a small wood cabin, covered in snow. Which is a relief. Aqua really shouldn't kill anyone. 

Unless of course he plans to turn her into a skin lamp. 

Bucky hops out of the car and strides to the door - unfairly graceful despite the feet of snow surrounding them - to the door. He crouches by the lock and Darcy imagines that he’s using a tiny little screwdriver that automatically comes out of his index finger to break in. 

He glances at her when she wades her way up the slippery walkway. 

“You know when you do shit like this I feel like you should be wearing that little raccoon mask they gave you in the comics.” 

That halts him in his work.

“They made comics...with me?” 

“Duh, are you kidding? You were an adorable sidekick kid, blue jacket and all.” Not to mention one of Darcy’s first crushes. Ranked right up there with Gadget Hackwrench. 

“A sidekick?” He frowns, “I’ll show you sidekick.” 

And voila; the door swings open and hits the wall inside with a bang that rattles in the quiet of the woods. Darcy knows it’s irrational but for some reason she expects HYDRA to appear from behind the trees. Her heart does not get the irrational-memo and speeds up again. 

A cloud of stale, old-people-smell, mixed with the telltale odor of month-long neglect, embraces them like a hug from a senior citizen. 

The smell was undoubtedly coming from the monstrosity of a couch that made up the focal point of the cabin. Not that the muddy stench of slowly decaying wood was any help in making the place seem even remotely pleasant. 

Darcy had to remind herself that this was better than a HYDRA cell somewhere. Not better than her apartment in the Stark Tower, but it feels unfair to expect Bucky to face Steve before he’s ready. The whole situation isn’t exactly fair -  what with the seventy year long captivity, brainwashing and torture Bucky has endured. Spending a little time in a New York mountain cabin seems like nothing compared to that.  _ Is _ nothing compared to that. 

Bucky pushes her through the door and uses the rusty latch to lock the door behind them quickly. Just as Darcy begins to cross the room an ominous creaking noise startles them both, Bucky - lightning quick- pins her between his back and the door and Darcy gets a mouthful of his dirty jacket.

Strenuous seconds pass by as they listen for anymore Freddie Kruger noises. 

“Mice?“ Darcy asks hopefully, around the sweaty tasting, mess of a jacket. Bucky nods slowly. But doesn’t move. At all. Darcy is left uncomfortably pressed with her nose to his back. 

His…musk isn’t nearly as bad as she thought it would be but it’s still less than pleasant. 

“Buckaroo?“ 

He grunts. 

“You stink. Hydra is gonna smell you all the way from New York.“                                  

He nods, doesn’t bother taking off his boots or cap and makes his way to the bathroom in the corner of the room. 

Darcy plops down on the couch and nearly chokes on the dust cloud that raises from the midst of The Walton’s most favorite pillows. 

When the dust clears Darcy decides that suffocating from dust is more desirable than getting a shower. And she’s too exhausted to figure out a strange shower anyway, instead she pulls out her phone only to discover she still had no service. And no data. And no wifi. A millennial's worst nightmare.

Facebook obnoxiously reminds her that she can, in fact, upload stuff offline. Which is help-fucking-ful. Candy crush is so 2011 even Bucky might think it's vintage, so yeah it’s out of the question. 

Her facebook profile can totally use a spruce up though. And how convenient is it that she took a new photo just today? It’s fate telling her to upload that amazing picture of Bucky and her. 

The offline upload has just finished when the bathroom door opens. 

When Bucky steps back into the room,  _ ‘hold me _ ’ is literally the first thing that enters her mind.

He’s wearing nothing but a tiny tea-towel slung around his hips. Even though Darcy is firmly on team ‘little person = big spoon’ those arms look perfect for a good squeeze and a nice cuddle. 

He looks like a fucking undead underwear model.

Darcy's ovaries come to life like an old, rusty lawnmower. 

As in it's loud, uncomfortable and leaves her ears ringing. 

“I...is...” she swallows thickly and wills her brain into ...thinking?...talking?

There is probably an equally beautiful penis hiding under that [flimsy embroidered mustard tea-towel](http://rlv.zcache.co.nz/happy_chicago_style_hot_dog_tea_towels-rf27844e7b9d94f5387db6ccd92c8c628_2c81h_8byvr_324.jpg) and Darcy still finds the idea of a piggyback ride almost as appealing as being ravished right on that chunky, flowery couch. 

Nope, no thinking  _ or  _ talking happening here, no sir. 

Who knew that adrenaline and anxiety would dissipate by merely looking at a half naked specimen? They should start giving out pictures of Steve in various states of undress. Hmmm. Panic attacks? Have a picture of Steve Rogers, shirtless on sheepskin in front a crackling fire. Chocolate and wine offered to you... Mildly anxious? Have a picture of Steve Rogers lying on bed with lidded eyes. 

If she can convince Natasha to assist her this could be her next business endeavor. 

“I’m calling dibs on the bed,” Darcy finally blurts, grabs her purse and walks backwards into the room. Her eyes never leaving his. 

“Night.” He says softly.

She leaves the door slightly ajar and surveys the room she has chosen to lay her head down in. It’s a hideous mix of burnt orange and overwhelming floral patterns. And dust.

It’s no use though, she lies down anyway, allergies be damned. 

Staring at the mix of white daisies and yellow sunflowers makes her about as dizzy as staring at Bucky Barnes’ naked, damp, chiseled abs. 

Bucky Barnes’ half naked body has literally turned her vagina into a water park with at least four different slides. All of them dangerous. She shifts until the ache between her legs is comfortably pressed against a flowery pillow and forces herself to calm the fuck down. 

“I’ve never done  _ anything _ to deserve this,” she whines sullenly into the comforter. “I saved the world  _ twice  _ for God’s sake.” If she squeezed her eyes hard enough Bucky’s body would hopefully disappear from her memory. Alas his... _ everything _ is burned into her retinas, similar to looking right into the sun. 

At which point, Darcy pretty much gives up on herself as a human being. These were not the sort of things a decent person thought about in regards to anyone who had been brainwashed up until recently.

If she didn't have a problem before, she most definitely has one now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comments. I beg you. Also credit to Hannah (forevergingeratheart on tumblr and gingerlocks on here) for being patient with me and going through this literary equivalent of an oil spill not once, not twice BUT thrice! She's the loving, encouraging, fake husband every girl dreams of.


	4. Road Trip? More like road tripping.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Bucky have Walmart shenanigans. Tony and Darcy have a chat about going on spontaneous road trips with assassins. Steve is still on a ‘mission’ with Sam (honeymooning with Sam is more like it). And Bucky almost chokes on 21st century snacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello person that is reading!  
> Thank you for reading!  
> PSA over.

Darcy jolts out of bed like she’s been bitten. It doesn’t feel like she’s slept more than an hour. 

It takes a moment to realize that Bucky is looming at the end of her bed - well - she assumes it’s him, her contact lenses are currently  _ not _ thanking her for leaving them glued to her eyeballs for three days straight. He’s mostly an undefined blob and yet Darcy swears she can hear him frowning loudly. What he’s scowling for, she can’t say, but what else is new? 

3...2...1

“You shouldn’t have left the door open.” And there it is. Darcy swings her legs over the edge of the bed, desperately rubbing her eyes. It does nothing so Darcy has to feel her way out of the room and into the kitchen. Bucky follows, still huffing righteously.

“If you want me to think you’re gonna murder me in my sleep you shouldn’t have unnecessarily saved me from the squirrels,” she says, desperately poking her contacts into place and praying that the moisture would make them pliant again. Finding coffee would be hard if she couldn’t see it. 

Bucky makes another indignant noise. 

“It’s dangerous-” 

“You know what’s  _ really _ dangerous?“ She asks as she gets on her tiptoes to loot the cabinets in the little kitchenette. “Me before my morning coffee.”

Surprise. The ugly dark wood cabinets offer nothing besides a suspiciously shiny can of spam and - lo and behold - a little can of Folgers. 

“Incest coffee!“ She exclaims, squinting at the classic red bucket of god’s nectar, searching for the expiration date. 

Only one of her contacts, unfortunately, finally has mercy on her and slides into place. 

“Aww coffee, no.“ 

The expiration date says 3rd of July 1985. Which is both neglectful (who does that to innocent coffee?) and feels like worst news since World War 2. The urge to bang her head against the sink is almost overwhelming. 2010 would have been great. 2005 would have been fine.  1995 would have been a little close for comfort but still doable. 1985 on the other hand…being chased by Hydra while simultaneously having food poisoning didn’t sound all too appealing. 

“All right,“ Darcy concedes, and goes to grab her purse and coat, ”to the car!“ She orders, and starts marching. Bucky does not follow. 

“C’mon do your fingering magic.“ Admittedly not the best way to phrase her request to get the car started again but one would have to forgive her since she still didn’t have the gallon of coffee in her system that was required for a modicum of filtered talk. 

Bucky stays stoic. He’s still got his trademark sourpuss face on. Darcy sighs. 

“Buckster, my pal, my guy, don’t think I’m joking. I need coffee more than I need sustenance, I need coffee more than oxygen.“ She pleads, only a smidgen of dignity left she contemplates the idea of going down on her knees.

Still nothing. Not a twitch or even a sign that he heard her. He could probably, feasibly hide as a Queen’s guard if he wanted to. 

“It may be okay coffee for you, terminator, but while you may withstand coffee that is designed to survive with the cockroaches, I, for sure, am not.“ 

Bucky’s shoulders sag in defeat and immediately the smell of ground coffee beans tickle Darcy’s nose - or she just got too close to the can of Folgers and now has poisonous coffee particles stuck in her nostrils. Either way she is getting that cup of joe, that cup of life elixir.

“Fine.“ He grouses and grabs his things. Darcy does a little victory dance.

 

*

 

”Asgard can keep all their nice magic-y ’science‘ accomplishments, all we really need is caffeine.“ She declares as she slides into the Honda’s passenger seat. 

Bucky only grunts. Again. 

Since there will be no entertainment coming from her stoic, broody companion she leans over to- 

"Doll.“ Bucky warns but Darcy cannot be stopped and flips the radio on despite the warning. Bucky halts in his movement and stares at the radio for a good ten seconds before he decides that the local radio station is fine and that no bald Kens will try to get him to come shopping with him. 

"I got it; no Aqua.“

"That’s right; no…Aqua.“ 

"If you would watch the video you would change your mind.“ 

"Never.“

 

*

 

Bucky tilts his head and squints at the building suspiciously.

[“Hell ends with mart and begins with either Wal or K,”](http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/trucker-arrested-masturbating-urinating-walmart-article-1.2642795) she explains with a flourish to the neon Walmart sign they are both looking at. 

"This is a supermarket?“ He asks, still not convinced. 

"Yes, of course it is. This is the iconic, national symbol for American capitalism, this is a supermarket and a parallel universe at the same time, have you been living under a rock?“ A waft of supermarket popcorn smell hits her in agreement. 

"No. But I have been on ice.“ There he goes again with deadpan humor. Darcy cracks a smile at him that he, wonder of wonders, reciprocates. It’s a nice change to the ever present frown. And Darcy tries her hardest not to stare but the little crows feet in the corners of his eyes are too endearing to look away. 

"Well, you know, at least you didn’t get freezer burn.“ She says and claps him, awkwardly, on the shoulder. And she would know. Oh she would know if there was anything wrong with his - everything. Everything not covered by that ridiculous tea-towel, that is. 

"Ain’t that the truth, doll.“ He says, leaning slightly into her hand. She gives him another light squeeze before letting go. 

“Well, Buckster, I literally smell like cheese-y Doritos in the worst of ways. Let’s go inside, please?”

 

*

 

Inside Bucky scowls in..awe? It’s a weird combination of disdain and overwhelmed admiration. The greeter doesn’t even try to get close and visibly pales at the sight of Bucky strutting through the automatic doors. Darcy tries to amend the situation by smiling at the guy. The greeter is probably grateful that his pants are a dark blue. 

"We need a plan,“ she says tugging him towards the produce section. "A strategy, you know?“ Apparently Bucky has plans of his own that do not involve any real strategy other than plunging his non-metal hand right into a bin of plums. "Why are you feeling up those poor plums, Amélie?“ She asks quirking her eyebrow at him. There is something very charming about a large, beefy man tenderly touching stone fruit. 

He hesitates. "My mom, she- she used to make plum pie?“ He flexes his fingers around the fruit in his hand. Darcy has visions of plum splatter adding even more allure to her coffee stained outfit. 

"And you used to mash them with your bare, unwashed hands?“ He looks incredibly offended and then retracts his hand like he’s bitten by the plums. 

"She would’ve gotten me good with her spoon if she’d caught me doing that.“ 

And there she goes again with that bad feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach. 

"You know, we made Erik eat a metric fucktonne of plums. Google says they are good for your memory.“ 

"They are?“ 

She nods eagerly. "That and chocolate but Erik got weird when we gave him too much Lindt.“ Weird is an understatement, sugar can even affect the largest, most science-y toddlers and Erik had been weird before. The ‘must always wear pants‘ policy was even harder to enforce after the great ‘chocolate memory jogger 2k15‘ debacle.

Bucky contemplates the plums in his hand. After a minute of soulful staring Darcy takes pity on him and pulls one of the plastic bags off the roll and hands it to him. "Do you get weird when you get too much sugar?“ 

"I don’t know.“ He says, shrugging. 

"Okay, well, we need snacks I’ll get those while you-“ He puts another handful of plums in the quickly overflowing bag, "get another bag, I guess. Find me when you’re done?“ He nods.

 

*

 

He finds her with two bags of plums in his hands and the feverish, tell-tale flush of a shopping rush across his cheeks. 

"Cheetos or Kettle Chips?“ She asks, he shrugs. "Right, iceman, there will be lots of catching up.“ She picks the hot Cheetos and hands them over for Bucky to carry. 

"Thanks,“ he says sarcastically. 

"What do you have that arm for if not this?“ He rolls his eyes and picks up a large double bag of beef jerky, classic, of course. 

"What else do we need?“ He asks switching gears, the excited puppy dog eyes returning. "Deodorant, clothes, deodorant, coffee? Something else other than plums.“ He nods and takes off. Darcy is left with her hands aborted in the air, a bag of sea salt popcorn forgotten. They should’ve gotten a basket. 

“Don’t run off!” She shouts after him, but it’s futile; he’s around the corner towards the detergent section in a flash. She rushes after Bucky like a dog on a leash down the neon aisles, popcorn clutched to her chest. 

He’s gone when she has finally picked up enough speed. Of course he is. 

"Okay fine. Whatever. Marco Polo me when you need to find me, Speedy Gonzalez.“ She calls after him and does a u-turn towards the clothing aisle.

 

* 

 

Darcy has it narrowed down to blue and red. Red goes really well with her skin tone but blue…

The obnoxious tri-tone ringing of a FaceTime call interrupts her thought process. It’s alive, she thinks as she frantically pulls her phone from her coffee-stained coat pocket. Jane’s name flashes across her screen, she accepts the call. 

" _ Darcy Lewis _ !“ Probably shouldn’t have accepted that call, Darcy thinks, holding the phone far away from her face and frantically turning down the volume.  

"What?“ She asks as innocently as possible. Which is not very innocent at all. To Darcy’s surprise the expected outburst never comes. Usually Jane’s anger, if not stopped in it’s tracks, becomes a black hole of wrath that can and will suck in and destroy everything in it’s proximity. Instead, Jane is squinting at her iPhone screen, mouth slack. 

"Why is the Winter Soldier  _ behind _ you?“ She whispers. 

"Is he?“ Darcy says turning around and, yup, there is he is clutching wet wipes and about eleven packets of beef jerky. 

"Blue or red?“ She asks holding up the two sweatshirts for his inspection. Bucky just glares. Typical. 

"Darcy! Why did I wake up to a picture of you and _ Bucky Barnes _ , on Facebook?“ Next to her Bucky shuffles his feet and releases a puff of air. Uh-oh. 

"Because…we are doing a road trip.“ Keep it cool, she repeats in her head. "You know; Route 66, landmarks, Niagara Falls-" 

"Are you serious?“ Concerned Jane? Not good Jane. Not good Jane. At. All. Deep breaths. 

"Jane, I’m fine. Right?“ She asks turning to Bucky. Who…shrugs and glares some more for good measure. Facetime is gonna get her killed, she can see it, damn you Steve Jobs! 

"Darcy-" 

"Listen, Jane, I promise it’s gonna be fine.“ It must be something in her eyes because Jane nods slowly and breathes in deeply. 

"Okay. You know what you’re doing.“ She says like it’s a mantra. 

"Yes. I know what I’m doing.“ Which sounds about as convincing as Donald Trump saying anything. Ever. 

"Okay, okay, okay.“ Another deep breath. 

"Okay. Bye Janie.“ She ends the call before Jane decides to revoke that precarious trust. 

"So,“ she says turning to the perpetually scowling Barnes, "red or blue?“ 

He ignores the question instead he holds out his one free hand. 

"We need to destroy your phone.“ 

She clutches the phone to her chest, outraged. "What the fuck? No. This baby is untraceable. This baby is souped up to the max.“ An iPhone that got crossed with a Stark phone. Like a purebred dog. Not a pug though. 

"We are on the run, doll,“ he reminds her. His hand shoots forward, and for a split second Darcy thinks she’s gonna meet her maker in the clothing department of the upstate New York Walmart. Except he reaches over her shoulder and rips down a piece of clothing from the rack behind her. A black hoodie, in her size. "No more Facebook.“ Well, he didn’t say no more pictures. 

"Oh goodie!,“ she says as he piles the hoodie into her loaded up arms. "We’ll match.“ 

"Just take it.“  

 

*

 

The Winter Soldier apparently does not give a single fuck about gender roles and the significances of color coded marketing towards those genders. Which is absolutely fine with Darcy. 

Bucky stands with his back to her, two different deodorants in his hands, nose glued to them, alternating between dove’s midnight-meadow and axe’s manly-man-desperate-not-to-bald. 

"Anything good?“ Darcy asks reaching for her signature scent. Bucky furrows his brows and gives the two deodorants in his hand a disgusted look. "Who can stand to put this on their body?“ He asks, scandalized. "In my time-" he begins. "Okay, old man, don’t lose it before we even get to inflation.“ 

"Smell mine?“ She suggest and thrusts her Dove stick in his face.

Apparently it’s okay if the twitching of his eyebrows are any indication.

"Fine.“ He concedes, even though the reluctance seems as fake as Donald Trump’s hair piece. 

Cool, Darcy thinks, first the hoodie now the smell of their armpits.

 

*

 

The complaining begins when she’s found the right brand of instant coffee and nearly falls to her knees in front of the shelve thanking Ethiopia for their inventiveness. 

"$8,11?“ He asks, scandalized. "That’s…you could buy- you could buy a whole year's worth of coffee for that.“ 

"Not a coffee plantation?“ 

"How is that even worth the money?“ 

She gasps. 

"Don’t listen to that grumpy, coffee-hating chump.“ She coos and gives the tub of coffee a loud kiss. It would’ve been a wet one too but they are in a family friendly store after all. 

After that it’s an avalanche.

 

*

 

"In my day you could buy a whole pig with that money.“ He says scowling at the bacon. 

"In my day you could buy a house with that money.“ He says glaring at the bananas, Darcy picks a bunch up anyway. 

"In my day,“ he says, holding up a loaf of bread. "You could buy a whole bakery with that money.“ 

Darcy draws the line when he holds up a variety pack of snickers, bounties and mars bars that are on  _ sale _ and claims he could’ve bought a whole neighborhood with it. "Okay, grandpa, we get it. Money used to get you things.“ 

"Look!“ He points to an artful pyramid of Campbell soup. Darcy groans expecting the  _ worst _ . "What could you have bought with that money? A yacht?“ 

"Now, this is a bargain.“ He grabs five cans of tomato soup. 

"Oh my god.“ She mumbles and tries to tug him along to the check-out. 

*

They must look ridiculous at the register. There is a mountain of beef jerky, a pound of instant coffee, two packet of wet wipes, dove deodorant, a bag of Cheetos, a black hoodie and a pair of leggings and countless of other items that don’t make them seem like necessarily sane people. The young, pimply guy who rings them up looks at them like he’s never worked a day at a Walmart. 

Honestly, working at Home Depot she’d seen weirder things before 10 am on a Tuesday. 

She grabs them a large bag and wishes they’d opted for self-checkout. 

Back in the car, with their supplies in the trunk, she prays she’s still on his good side, or at least good enough to get some tunes. 

Unfortunately, the tunes are suspended for a traffic announcement and an urgent weather report. 

"Wrap up folks! The cold front approaching us is turning into a real doozy we expect at least three feet of snow, starting tomorrow afternoon-" Darcy stares at the radio feeling personally victimized by it. Snowed in... in upstate New York. A tiny snowflake lands on the windshield of their Honda Accord and mocks her even more. 

"How?“ She mumbles. Fuck you Trump. Global Warming is fucking real. Or else they wouldn’t have had like 75 degrees just a day ago.

 

*

 

Back in the cabin, after they’d dumped the contents of the Walmart bags, Darcy decides to take responsibility for her own smell and to finally do something about it, her brand-new ‘Fruit of the loom’ five pack of underwear is calling out to her. 

"Don’t steal my food again, Barnes.“ She warns with a pointed look to her waiting bag of Cheetos. He grunts eloquently. As a precaution she takes her phone with her, you know, just in case Bucky gets a little too smash happy. 

The shower unravels knots in areas she didn’t even know she had them, it takes all of her willpower not to use up all the water and stand under the stream for a whole hour. Fortunately for her, when she finally finds the willpower to get out of the shower, she doesn’t have to grab a tea-towel to dry up, under the sink she finds a whole stack of linens. So much for the observational skills of retired assassins. 

When she gets out of the floral nightmare (part II) she discovers that Bucky, of course, didn’t listen. She finds him sitting on the couch, looking near tears, and desperately trying to come up for air. She has to bite the insides of her cheek trying not to laugh.  

His rapidly reddening cheeks eerily resemble the Cheetos he stole from her. 

"Serves you right.“ She says, as smugly as she can. 

He’s busy choking and for once doesn’t scowl. His glare is pretty impressive despite the fact that he must feel the urge to rub his tongue clean with a wet wipe. 

A dying man’s ferocious emotions. 

Darcy crosses the room until she’s by his side and slaps him on the back. 

"Ow!“ Apparently tac gear is like thermal wear and should be worn under civilian clothes. "What the fuck, Barnes?“ She shakes her hand trying to ease the pain. 

He can’t answer through his coughs and bows his head to hide his watering eyes. But she’s seen them and they are going straight into her mental Winter Soldier blackmail folder. 

The coughing abruptly stops when her phone rings for the second time that day. 

They both startled and snap their heads towards her phone where it rests on top of the kitchen table. 

"Shit.“ Darcy curses and practically flies across the room to grab it. 

_ ‘Tiny Stank’  _ glares up at her from the phone screen. 

Apparently Jane had seen nothing in her eyes. Disappointing really. 

"Should I be angry at Jane?“ She asks Bucky, who is angry at her; if the clenching and unclenching and metallic noises of arms are any indication. 

"Give me your phone.“ He demands but Darcy shakes her head and presses the green button despite his protests. For Bucky’s sake she puts Tony on speaker. 

“ _ You’re so grounded _ .” Tony says, sounding metallic through the speaker of her phone. 

“Can you even ground me?” She asks, eyes never leaving Bucky’s. 

“ _ I can. And I did. You live under my roof _ .” Oh boy, Darcy rolls her eyes, typical Tony. 

“Can you ground Clint then? He drank all the coffee you gave me.” 

Tony snorts but obliges. “ _ Barton! You’re grounded too! _ ” 

“ _ What!? _ ” Clint squawks in the background. 

“ _ So has the Winter Soldier kidnapped you or did you kidnap the Winter Soldier? _ ” 

“I mean, I don’t what you’re talking about-” 

“ _ Cut the crap, kid, Cap will kill me when he finds out what’s going on. Spill the beans before I call him. You don’t want that dose of freedom to hit you, trust me _ .” 

“Kinky.” 

“ _ Darcy. _ ” Tony warns, but Darcy knows that he totally did that on purpose. 

“Technically,” Darcy begins and looks at Bucky who shrugs. The muscles in his jaw are taut, apparently the back of the Dorito bag is suddenly very interesting. 

“Technically, I think we kidnapped each other.” Bucky widely gestures at her phone, Darcy takes it as a yes. “Yeah, he’s nodding.” 

“ _ Lewis, is the metal-armed assassin listening? _ ” 

“It’s only polite, I don’t tattle.” 

“ _ Fucking hell, kiddo. _ ” 

"You can’t tell Steve, Tony.“ She says, switching gears. 

" _ We can tell whoever we like! _ “ Clint yells in the background. 

" _ Please _ , Tony.“ Begging? Not above it. 

Tony sighs and Darcy hopes it’s in defeat. 

" _ You’re in luck, kiddo, cap and birdman are out on a mission for at least another month. _ “ Barnes is still making grabby hands at the phone. Well kinda, it looks like he is subconsciously flexing his hands. 

"See we’re fine, Barnes.“ She tries to soothe. "Steve is out. They are not going to track us because Tony is not going to tell them anything.“ 

" _ Now hold on, kid, I can’t let you run around with an internationally wanted assassin _ .“ 

" _ Tony, _ “ She pleads. "Hydra is after us-" 

" _ See! How can I be responsible- _ " 

"I’m fine. We’re fine. No need to contact Steve.“ 

" _ Fine,”  _ she can practically see Tony run a hand over his face, _ “But you have to contact me whenever- _ " Darcy cuts him off by ending the call before she can make any promises she won’t keep. 

"I may or may not have forgotten that the guy who made the Stark phone totally is capable of tracing me.“ she admits sheepishly. 

“Give that to me.” Bucky snaps. This is by far the most painful thing Darcy Ruth Lewis ever had to do. The iPod had been devastating but this phone had both photos  _ and _ music on it. 

He flexes his hand again. “Is this really necessary? Like-” 

“Doll...” 

“Fine.” She hands it over as slowly as humanly possible. “Goodbye my loyal friend, my lov-” 

Within the blink of an eye he’s got her phone in his fist. The scrunching signifies the end of an era. “You couldn’t have let me say goodbye? Candy crush was on there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [Hannah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerLocks/pseuds/GingerLocks) for helping with the commas and the sense and the plot and my tears and the wrong " and the overall readability. 
> 
> You are a true trooper and a great writer, so please check out her stuff! Her speciality (in my opinion) is everything she writes, and boy, does she have a plethora of works for that! 
> 
> Also please leave comments, they make my day (also my week but I don't wanna appear desperate). I will reply with an assortment of weird gifs.


	5. She's beauty. She's grace. She's got an elbow in her face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite looking like a goddamn grizzly bear Bucky turns out to be not all too cuddly. The cold threatens to leave Darcy de-caffeinated. _Forever_. Bucky has a fun agenda. _Not_. Steve and Sam are still on their honeymoon. Probably. Most likely. Who really knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may take to finish 'till next year. (ha! - I am so sorry). 
> 
> Again, this chapter is a team effort, the team of fake-marriage, my fake husband [Hannah](http://www.forevergingeratheart.tumblr.com) did a bang-up job of finding even my stupidest mistakes. 'till fake death do us part. Or smthg. 
> 
> She also does [writing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerLocks/pseuds/GingerLocks)! It's awesome and not fake at all! Check it out please!

Bucky goes back to eating his snacks and Darcy is left in her chair to stare at her powdered chips and the crumbled, Apple patented, plastic. If she were a lesser woman she’d shed the tears that she can feel threatening to spill. 

"Candy crush.“ She moans, wringing her hands. "Angry Birds! My blackmail material!“ She wails and then steals a glance over her shoulder at Bucky. 

No sign of remorse from Barnes since he’s busy chowing on an overpriced banana. 

"Fine,“ She snaps and begins gathering her iPhone’s smithereens by using her right hand to brush them into the palm of her left. "I’ll give them the burial - Nay! - the farewell they deserve,  _ all _ by myself.“ 

Huffy, she stomps out of the cabin into the cold woods. 

The desire for dramatics and theatrics leaves her the moment a stiff, cold breeze catches her off guard and right in the face. Protectively she clutches her iPhone remains to her chest and pays for her troubles with a mouthful of her hair. 

"How the fuck does Santa do this all year around?“ She mutters her teeth chattering so hard that it feels like she’ll make more powder to spread like ashes. 

Finding the right wind direction or downwind, she never knows which, proves to be hard as it feels like both the wind and icy cold are coming from all directions at once just to personally attack her. Eventually she manages to open her hand and only barely misses getting a full dose of toxic iPhone ashes in her face. 

"G-go-oodbye. T-thanks.“ She stutters and then hauls ass back into the cabin. A silent eulogy will have to do. Even though the cold most definitely froze her brain beyond heartfelt speeches even mental ones. 

"The weather is mocking me.“ She explains when Bucky gives her a questioning look. 

Her cold skin met with the warmth of the cabin it feels like her skin is melting off of her face and her hands and her arms and her legs. The prickly feeling is awful and all Darcy wishes to have is a nice fire going in the fireplace by the couch.  

“We need wood.” She says and looks pointedly at Bucky. 

And pointedly not at the leftover sad, pathetic remains of her beautiful crushed iPhone. 

But then pointedly at the woodless fireplace after. 

“How would I get wood?” He asks around his banana. Classy. 

“What do you have that arm for?” She questions right back. 

“Does my arm look like a fucking ax, doll?” 

She shrugs and begins to prepare herself a nice, much needed, cup-o-joe. 

“If it can’t chop wood what is it good for?” 

She puts entirely too much instant coffee into a mug and then tops it off with about a third of hot tap water. 

He groans but drops his beef jerky and goes outside not even bothering to put his jacket on. Fucking Super Soldiers. 

“Hydra made it for something!” She yells after him with a smug smile on her face, cradling a nice, steamy cup of coffee. 

And she hopes for a hot possibly shirtless wood chipping sequence. Eagerly she creeps closer to the window, trying to not look to desperate. 

After his little post-bath-time strip-tease she can’t imagine he’d mind her ogling all too much. 

Not that he can see her lurking at the window, he’s got his back turned to her and when he picks up one of the stacked logs she gets something far more enticing than just simple ax swinging. 

She’s heard about Steve ripping wood apart with his bare hands before from Clint who had practically used poetry to describe it, but in person… it was something else entirely. 

Darcy makes up her mind right then and there. She will write a book about this experience and publish it with the gaudiest cover of a half naked man. She’ll even self-publish it on amazon kindle if she has to. 

The image alone will absolutely warm her on the coldest of nights. Who needs a fire when you can imagine Bucky Barnes ripping logs of wood in half while possibly topless?

 

*

 

The image doesn’t help much at all when Darcy finds herself freezing half to death about two hours into the night. It’s pitch black in her room and still she is convinced that she can see clouds of her own breath. Even with her crusty contact lenses. 

In an desperate attempt to stay warm she’s wrapped her two blankets around herself until she resembles a soggy Taco Bell burrito. 

The door to her room swings open just as she’s gone on to violently shivering. 

It’s Bucky, illuminated by the dancing light of the fireplace, he stands at the end of the bed watching her for a moment.

“Glad you aren’t dead yet.” He says with what she assumes is a deadpan look on his face.

“I closed the door this time.” She says through chattering teeth, not caring about how pathetic she looks. Bucky sighs and crosses the room, he tugs at her blanket. 

“Stoooop.” She moans and pulls the comforter tighter around her body. 

“You need to get warm.” 

“No shit, Sherlock.” What does he think she’s doing? A reenactment of Kafka? Another sigh and suddenly he’s got his hands under her legs and around her waist. Does this make her a takeout burrito? 

Even though this is what she fantasized about while other little girls had planned their weddings. Except for the raccoon mask being present of course, thinking of cartoon Bucky. 

Bucky carries her across the cabin and dumps her, surprisingly gently, on the couch. Her body immediately begins to relax. 

“You’re welcome.” Bucky says, extra smugly, before taking one of his blankets and draping it over her. It’s nice. Until he lifts the comforter and proceeds to drape himself on top of her, like her own heated and weighed blanket. 

“Oof.” She groans releasing all the air in her lungs. 

It’s better than dying alone, so she settles into the cushions suddenly grateful for the countless people who had sat on this very couch and made it so soft. “I’m so glad you showered,” she mumbles into the crook of his arm, this probably would’ve poisoned her if he hadn’t. 

He rumbles above her, a tentative chuckle escaping him.

 

*

 

“This won’t do,” Darcy complains around the arm that is currently pressed to her face.

“We tried three positions - just shut up.” 

“James Barnes I’m not gonna die tonight because you squished my face too hard - get up!” She shoves until Bucky ‘I could be a bear’ Barnes admits defeat and gets off the sofa. Darcy rolls into the center of the cushions until the space is optimized and her head was comfortably resting on one of the pillows - she places the other pillow on her stomach and beckoned him forward until he drops half on top of her  and half on the couch. 

"Isn’t his  _ much _ better?“ 

A muffled, "Shut up.“ is all she gets. But he contradicts that statement by closing his eyes. 

For a minute or two there is nothing but the comforting sound of wood crackling in the fireplace. Darcy moves around a little until her head is resting near his neck and her body is finally relaxed enough for sleep. 

"Promise me we’ll leave in the morning.“ She moans into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky doesn’t reply with words but instead with an earth shattering snore cuts through the quiet of the cabin. 

She settles for watching him. His relaxed, sleep slack face makes him look ten years younger, his slightly open mouth makes him look charmingly unguarded. Innocent even. Similar to a bear, cute on the outside but damn those paws can send you flying. And asleep? Not intimidating whatsoever. 

Sighing Darcy settles for snuggling as closely as she possibly can hoping to ward of the cold.

 

*

 

It’s cold again when she wakes up but Bucky acts as a human space heater so it’s not too bad. 

After a good thirty minutes of getting gently breathed on by Bucky, Darcy can practically feel bed sores forming on her legs. 

Wrapped in the blanket she performs some crazy high stake gymnastics that she is pretty proud of. Climbing over the back of a sofa without waking the person previously wrapped around you is not an easy feat, especially not when the sleeping person is a trained assassin. 

With a fond smile she pulls at his comforter until he’s covered up to his shoulders. 

Traipsing across the room to the kitchen Darcy grabs a banana and then tries to turn the tap on. Nada. No water. Nothing. Not even brown water. Darcy twists it around in both directions, progressively more furious as her fear of not drinking coffee grows. 

"Coffeeee.“ She whisper-moans. Squinting furiously she tries to evoke some sort of superpower that involves heat vision to unfreeze the tap. 

He wakes up just as she’s decided that chewing Nestle can’t be all that bad. Her spoon is halfway to her mouth when Bucky begins moving. 

"Everything is frozen,“ she says and inconspicuously drops the spoon, some things are just a little too humiliating for company. "And I’m not talking about the popular Disney movie merchandise being everywhere.“ And she means everywhere, it wouldn’t surprise her if Elsa chose to pop up in this cabin any moment now. 

Bucky takes a moment to adjust, like he didn’t expect her to survive the night, which, rude much? He blinks a few times. 

"Coffee?“ 

"Oh now you’re catching on, young Padawan.“ 

"Young…what?“ 

"Padawan. It just means you’re catching onto my teachings,“ She plops down next to him and holds the coffee out to him. "There’s a spoon in there.“ 

Bucky shakes his head and then pulls the comforter around himself like her. They both sit in silence like mountains coming to terms with their awful un-caffeinated situation. 

A cold breeze-air-thing hits her and she can practically feel her lungs gear up to get pneumonia. Especially her sinuses are getting ready to empty themselves.  

After about five minutes Darcy feels Bucky’s shivering synchronize with hers.

When she turns to address it, make a joke, mouth already open she stops herself from saying anything because he’s starting to look a little pale. A little lost. 

All that freezer talk had been fine apparently but actually being stuck in a cabin sized freezer? Not so funny. 

Darcy wrestles for her words for a good minute, a rank feeling creeping in her stomach. Both from coffee-lessness and dread.

“Do you think maybe Sylvia Plath wasn’t crazy?” She says with a look to the inviting looking oven. Especially since it’s the exact opposite of a freezer.  

“Who?” He asks blinking to live. Cyborg activated, Darcy thinks hoping that this’ll bring them somewhat closer to some heat. The cold is really making her long for the absurdist sources of heat, like sticky, stuffy Subway station heating and the incredible insulation of sleeping bags. 

“You know, she probably was just cold.” 

“Again- who?” 

“Twentieth century author put her head in the oven probably because she was cold.” 

"Okay,“ he concedes, with a swift movement he drops the blanket from around his shoulders and gets up. Darcy admires him from her cocooned warmth and makes no move to get up too. "Let’s get going.“ 

"I can’t go out there!“ The cold is unbearable inside, how is it going to be outside? She has no future plans to turn into a Darcy-sicle. Not now. Not ever. She’s not Steve Rogers after all.  She shakes her head and grips the blanket tighter. He steps closer to her. 

“I’m cold, Robocop!” She wails but to no effect, he stays cold (Ha!) and heartless and grabs her blanket and tugs, he’s entirely too bossy for her tastes. “You of all people should know what that feels like!” With a yank he’s got her unraveled. 

"Oh my god,“ She gasps. "I can see my breath, you’re not supposed to see your breath indoors.“ 

“The car has heating.” He reminds her. 

“Yeeeah. Sure. After it has run for an hour or two.” She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them. 

He’s got his back turned to her so he wouldn’t even see if she used one of her shoes to knock some sense into him. But it would cost her, her shoe so that’s not an option. 

“That’s just fine, we’re going to Virginia.” 

Virginia? What in the ever-loving fuck are they supposed to do in Virginia? 

“Are you joking?” It could be a possibility, he could be kidding. Or he could be really into snakes and lovers and snake lovers and loving snakes. Pre-freezing delirium? 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He turns around dramatically the plum in one hand and his backpack in the other, completely ruining the intended, dramatic effect. 

“With that face? And that hair?” That stupid smug smile was back in full force. “Barnes, that’s like an eight hour drive!”  _ Five _ hours in a car had been challenging eight hours were simply inconceivable. 

“Actually it’s a ten hour drive. Plenty of time to get warm.” This boy must have a serious death wish. 

"I’m not going out there. I think my hypothermia is already taking effect. It’s time for me to die, Barnes, it was nice knowing you but now we must-" 

"Doll,“ he warns, shouldering his backpack. "Get into the car.“ 

Why does doll suddenly make her cold, cold body feel a little warmer? "Fine.“ She concedes but proceeds to dramatically and loudly chatter her teeth as punishment. 

He gives her a look of familiar suffering that shouldn’t even be on his face yet. 

“It’s not my fault that you have antifreeze running through your veins and that I don’t.” She grouses as she gets into the passenger seat. 

And no iPhone means no decent music for eight hours. 

Oh goody.

 

*

 

Three hours in Darcy feels a stress headache pounding behind her eyes. And her stomach is revolted by the mere idea of eating anymore Cheetos. 

At least she isn’t cold anymore. 

Bucky is completely unbothered though. He’s been merrily driving, not saying anything, not even when, by hour two, she had started to switch the stations every fifteen seconds. He’s got his left arm resting on the car-door and his hair is gently blowing in the warm breeze of the AC. He looks like he’s in an indie band’s music video. 

Meanwhile, if the visor mirror is any indication, Darcy looks like a highway trash tv show had come to life. Wonderful. 

And her stomach is grumbling, she’s got the empty stomach hiccups that even Cheetos and coffee powder can’t cure. 

Meanwhile, Bucky is happily chewing on his carefully selected snack choice. 

“You are gross as hell.” She says watching Barnes shovel beef jerky into his mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll do. 

“Protein.” He grunts in lieu of an action all explanation. 

“Protein-Shmotein,” She scoffs, disgusted. “that stuff tastes like Satan personally shoves it up his own ass and then sells it at gas stations.” 

"Eat a banana.“ 

"I want some hot food.“

"Put the banana on the air vent.“ 

"No pick something that isn’t Satan’s butt food.“ 

He thinks about it for a grand total of seventeen seconds and then decides. "Waffles.“ 

"Okay Leslie, we’ll get you those waffles.“ 

"Okay, who the fuck is Leslie?“ 

“Leslie Knope. The role model for any and all poli-sci students.“ He’s got that Barbie Girl look back on his face, so Darcy decides to drop it before he tears Pawnee apart. 

"By the way, finding a Waffle House would be way easier if I had phone, a working one, now we’ll have to follow the stars!“ He shrugs, extremely non-plussed. "The milky way, Barnes, don’t you care?“

"One it’s day, doll,“ He sets the blinker. "Two, all you gotta do is follow the signs.“ 

And yeah, he’s got lucky on the right side of the highway there is a sign that advertises Starbucks(COFFEE!), Wendy’s and a Waffle House. 

"Fine,“ She concedes revenge for her iPhone will come to him another day.

 

*

 

Whoever portrayed road trips as relaxing, artsy and a  _ fun _ activity highly underestimated the weirdness of backyard, bumfuck America. Darcy has never in her life seen so many McDonald's’, the golden arches are now and forever burned into her retinas. And if anyone had asked her before this trip she would’ve sworn that white, dilapidated barns were a thing of postcards and ads for Wisconsin. People also forgot to factor in grumpy assassins that did not enjoy any music that wasn’t heavily influenced by banjos.

The Waffle House coffee only gives her a boost for about an hour and a half which makes her feel cheated. 

She really misses Doris. Her face, her hair, her long delicate hands. Her long delicate hands wrapped around the black, plastic handle of the coffee pot. Oh, Doris. Oh, Doris’ coffee. 

After the third time of asking if they were there yet (wherever there(italics) is, Bucky has been exceptionally tight lipped) Bucky threatened her with the backseat again, so she chooses not to ask. Not even when hour ten passes and hour eleven is fast approaching. And there is still nothing but earth, wind and tires. 

Her phone would’ve been a wonderful, nice distraction. Again, grumpy(italics) assassins. 

"Just sleep.“ Bucky suggests when Darcy begins sighing every ten or so minutes. "You sleep,“ She childishly snaps. "This wouldn’t be so bad if I had my phone.“ He rolls his eyes. 

“Sleep, Darcy.” 

She refuses, but as the sky gets darker, and he stop suggesting it, she decides; a nap. A nap will be good.

 

*

 

Bucky gently nudges her awake a too short while later. He’s leaning over her at her side of the car. Blearily, Darcy realizes that they are currently in the woods… again. The idea that they may have just driven in a big circle and were now back at Lake George. Barnes seems like the type to be cruel like that. 

"We’re here.“ Bucky says. 

"We’re here where?“ Darcy asks. Hoping that Barbie Girl won’t get her killed  _ now _ . Barnes also seems like he’d hold a grudge. 

"Virginia.“ He answers, not answering at all. 

"We’re here where, in Virginia?“ Just to be annoying. Go out the way you came, is Darcy’s motto after all, an inconvenience from the start. 

Bucky hesitates for a long a moment that doesn’t serve to ease Darcy’s worried mind. Or increased heart rate for that matter. 

"Hydra compound.“ And they are back to minimum syllables. 

"You got a way with words, Barnes,“ She takes a deep breath. "And also  _ what _ ?“ 

"It’s a Hydra compound.“ He repeats. 

"An abandoned one?“ Hope dies last. 

"No.“ And there it goes. Dead like David Bowie. 

"What are you saying, Barnes?“ 

"I need information.“ 

"What kind of information?“ 

"I need to know more….about me.“ The ‘and what I’ve done‘ hangs in the air. 

"So we’re talking a Bourne kinda deal?“ Clint sorta looks like the guy from the weird unnecessary fourth Bourne movie, she should definitely bring that up to him whenever she’ll get out of this road trip from hell. Bucky looks at her with about as much understanding as he did when she’d brought up Sylvia Plath. "Getting those memories back from a shady government organization? Unlock your tragic backstory?“ 

"Right, a Bourne kinda deal.“ He confirms. 

Darcy looks around herself and sees nothing but snow covered trees. Bucky must’ve taken the car off road. It’s a surprise that the Honda hasn’t fallen apart. 

Darcy feels very out of place. 

“Why am  _ I _ here, Barnes?“ He looks sheepish. 

“I…googled you.” He says gruffly and like it’s the end of the conversation. 

“When you say it like that it sounds dirty.” 

"I googled you, I know what you can do with computers.“ Okay. Cool. 

"Where did you google me? Where the hell do Winter Soldiers go to google people?!“

"The library.“ Despite the hilarity of the image of Bucky Barnes sitting at a rickety library table bend over a computer from 1982 _googling_ _her,_ of all things that an assassin on the run could do with his free time, he chose _that_. 

"The  _ library _ .“ Darcy repeats. 

"Can you do it?“ 

"Can I do  _ what _ ?“ 

"Get in?“ 

"I can knock on the door if that is what you mean.“ 

"We need to get that information.“ 

"I don’t have a laptop. Or a phone,“ She says pointedly, she still has her seatbelt on, she’s ready to just turn around again. "I can knock.“ 

He looks like he’s contemplating it. Panic bubbles in the pit of her stomach. Knock on the door of Hydra. It’s a bible story isn’t it? At least that's what the nuns taught her. 

“Contrary to popular believe I don’t think a lot about ways to infiltrate WWII PoW-turned assassin factories. I think a lot about Jane’s disturbingly symmetrical Spock eyebrows that shouldn’t work on anyone but look like work of art.” Darcy shouts hysterically, not even vain about the crack in her voice. 

"It’s not a factory it’s a lab.“ He soothes like that makes the whole situation any better.

"Oh my god,“ Despite better judgement and her brain yelling at her she unbuckles her seatbelt. "I really would prefer your comic equivalent right now.“

**

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to you all! May you enjoy this time of year. 'Cause it's pretty cool. Also snow.  
>   
> Btw if you would like to follow me on tumblr to discuss Sebastian Stan's whole fucking existence I'll always have a shoulder to lean and cry on and an open ear. Click [here](http://www.agentpeggiecarter.tumblr.com)!


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